Living on Writer's Block

It was actually three days before she was able to move well enough to go on deck.

“Are you quite sure you can go, Redhawk?” Samuel asked.

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright now,” she said. “I’ve not felt this well in a very, very long time.”

“Very well, then.”

“Besides, I’ve imposed on your quarters for far too long,” she added.

“Now that I can agree with.” He led the way out the door and she followed him, nodding stiffly polite thanks as she passed him holding the door open for her. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know; I can open a door.” She didn’t know why but it put her on edge slightly.

“Just because I’m a pirate doesn’t mean I can’t be polite, Redhawk, as odd as that may seem to you.” 

“I’ll rephrase: don’t do that,” she said pertly.

His eyebrows jumped up. “I don’t take orders from you, Redhawk; if I want to be the gentleman and hold a door for you, or for any girl, I’m going to hold a door,” he said shortly. However, the next time they came to a door, he made a point of letting it shut in her face. They came out of the captain’s quarters and Samuel looked around, considering. Making a decision he turned and led her up the stairs to the poop deck, where he stood at the rail, hands behind his back, and called for silence. 

“Oy, all hands,”  he roared, “The Lady Redhawk would like to meet you all!” 

Behind him, Ramona put an embarrassed hand to her face and groaned. “You did not have to announce it that way, Swindler,” she muttered, making a point of using his criminal title. 

He shot a look over his shoulder at her. Then with a jerk of his head he motioned her forward to stand beside him at the rail. As she slowly stepped to his side, he looked out over the assembling mass and smiled out at them, saying between his teeth, “Don’t you know me well enough by now to know that, actually, I do?” 

“Actually, I know you well enough to know that, in fact, you don’t,” she said through a deceptive smile of her own as she looked out at the crew.

Samuel called down to his small congregation like a priest in his pulpit. “If you’ll all come up one at a time and greet her—” he began, but Ramona quickly turned and stared at him. 

“I am not a visiting princess, Samuel,” she said sharply. “And I don’t want to meet them as if it was some ridiculous party, all endless introductions and false smiles, not knowing who was who.” She swept past him, shaking her head, and went down the steps to the deck. “I’d tell you all to ignore him, but he’s your captain,” she said, smiling, as she faced the sea of ocean-salted, wind-hardened faces before her. “I want to meet you all, that’s true, but not in a long, overly-formal line of names and faces I won’t remember. I want to know about you, since it seems I’ve been invited to come with you for a while.” 

The whole crew’s faces cracked into smiles as they heard this, and a few cheered. First to come running to meet her was a small boy with brown hair and a few freckles on his nose. She smiled at the sweet-faced youngster and swiftly crouched down to be on his eye-level.

“I’m Jiminy Cox, miss! And Cap’n told me how you got rid of the witch what was goin’ to hurt him. I like you already!” He stuck out his hand awkwardly, and she shook it. 

“I’m so glad to meet you, Jiminy! I’m Ramona,” she replied, laughing a little. “If I’m honest with you, I’m  a little surprised why you already like me so much; we’ve only just met, and it was all on my account that you had to fight, you know,” she said, a trifle sadly. 

“Anyone who saves the cap’n’s life is a friend of mine, Miss Ramona,” Jiminy said seriously, then stepped aside as someone else came up behind him. Ramona straightened up to meet them.

“Wilhelm Gide, miss; I’m the navigator,” said a tall, thin gentleman with a cracked monocle and a bandage around his neck. He took Ramona’s hand and kissed it austerely, and she smiled.

“Ah, yes, we’ve met. I hope your neck isn’t too badly hurt?”

“Not as bad as my poor monocle, milady,” he said ruefully, removing the item in question from his eye and considering it somberly. “And — I am sorry about the extra sleep, my dear,” he added penitently.

“Quite alright, it did wonders for me in the end. And I’m dreadfully sorry about the monocle,” she added feelingly, “I hope it can be fixed?”

“Not really; I shall have to get a new one.”

“I hope you are successful in your search, then,” she said, as he turned away to allow someone else to meet her. 

“Gorrill, Milady Redhawk, Gorrill Odd,” said a cheerful man with bushy red sideburns and a white cloth tied around his head. “I’m in charge o’ the cannons here.”

“Good to meet you, Gorrill, and I’m Ramona. How many cannons does the ship have?” Her interest was real, for she could see that he was very proud, and that there were a fair number of guns around the rail of the deck. 

“Eight, milady, all cared for and cleaned by meself!” He swelled with pride, smiling hugely, setting his sideburns bristling. 

“Goodness, that must keep you busy!”

“Aye, marm, it do! But I’m glad to do it fer the cap’n, and the things come in useful in a fight!”

“Oh really? Did you use them in the attack on — on the Matron?” Ramona asked, hesitating at the dreaded name as if saying it would bring the witch back from her ocean-colored burial. 

“Hoho yes, milady, and we took care of  near a score o’ boats!’

“We?”

“Aye, that’d be us, miss. We’re all mighty indebted to you for helpin’ the cap’n when that witch had ‘im treed, miss,” said a spokesman for a small knot of teenage boys who’d come up around Gorrill.

Gorrill smiled. “This is me own little crew, milady; them’s the powder-monkeys. They help me man the guns in the fight. This one here,” he said, placing his hand on the spokesman’s black, bedraggled head, “is Henry. He’s their leader.” Henry smiled from sharp grey eyes, and nodded pleasantly. “His brother,” he went on, motioning forward a boy with the same black hair and confident smile, “is Charlie, and they’re always fighting for top dog in this little group.” He went on to name six more boys, all tall, lean, and hard-muscled with quick smiles and agreeable personalities. Ramona greeted and introduced herself to Francis, Bartholomew (frequently called Bart),  John, William, Benjamin (more commonly called Ben), and Edward. As Edward turned away to let someone else meet her, she looked up at where Samuel was leaning on the railing, his hands braced against it, looking down and watching the proceedings. As she looked up, he nodded to her; whether a polite greeting or some form of praise, she was not sure. She turned back again as a grizzled old man with a white beard approached her.

“Greetings, missie. The crew calls me Clark Pierre; yeh can call me whatever yeh darned well please.” He shook her hand firmly, a kindly smile lighting up his weathered face. “I hear yeh saved the cap’n’s neck; we’re all mighty obleeged to yeh.”

Ramona smiled, instantly liking the man. “I’ve been told as much. I’m Ramona Redhawk.”

“Are yeh hungry, lass? I’m the cook on the Osprey, as well as the boatswain; I can make you a little something. Yeh’re a mite peaky-lookin’, lass.”

Ramona only then became aware of the sharp, gnawing pains in her stomach. “I would, actually,” she said gratefully. “I quite enjoyed the stew I got the other day, despite the sedatives in it.” 

Pierre nodded, smiled knowingly, and turned away to stride quickly through the throng of sailors toward a small hatch in the deck. As he climbed down through it, she turned to another sailor coming to meet her. It was an enormously tall, bald man with a small black mustache, so well-tanned by years on the sea such that his ethnicity was hard to decide; he carried a large ring of keys as well as a large cutlass on his belt, and had gold earrings in both ears. 

“I am called Merlin, Lady,” he said in a thick, unidentifiable accent, bowing deeply to her, one fist over his heart. “And we owe you our gratitude for saving the life of our captain.” He straightened up again, towering above her, and smiled. “I am the quarter-master here, and occasionally the carpenter.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Merlin, I’m sure,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know a lot about ships; what, if I may ask, does a quarter-master do?”

A laugh rumbled up from his barrel chest. “In other ships I would command the crew; in this, however, I only do so when the captain is incapacitated. My job here is to care for the rowers, and to command them.”

“Oh, how interesting,” she said, not actually very interested; she was mostly trying to be polite enough that he wouldn’t smash her to the deck. “How do you — er, treat the — the rowers?”

“They are treated well on this ship, which is very good of the captain; we only use them when the ship cannot move otherwise. We like to use the wind to sail. Then, the rowers get a rest, and as much food as they need.”

“Well, I do know enough to realize that’s not normal. And I don’t suppose you — whip — them?” She shuddered as the word came out of her mouth.

“No, we do not; it is a great cruelty, and the captain disagrees with it strongly. Now, with your leave, Lady, I would return to them.” He bowed again, then turned to leave. 

She spent a good quarter of an hour longer meeting the crew before Lee came at the end. “I know you,” she said warmly, smiling. “Lee. You joined them?”

“Aye, Blood— er, Redhawk, milady, I did. I’ve always wanted to see the world, and when the cap’n offered me a place on the ship I jumped on it.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re getting another chance.” She turned and meandered over to the rail at the side of the ship, and Lee followed. “I’ve been offered one… I just don’t know if I can take it.”